Love, and Marriage
by GoddessofSnark
Summary: At her wedding he sits there watching her, waiting for his first opportunity to leave.


A/N I've said it before and I'll say it again, I really don't like Woody, I find his character lacks a lot of depth-not to any fault of Jerry O'Connell's (although it doesn't help that he'll always be the kid who'll live off of cherry pez) but due to the writers, he seems very much like a cardboard cut out-in fact he seems like a Mary Sue (utterly perfect but horrible things happen to him). But a Woody Jordan pairing is, sadly, inevitable, so I figured if you can't beat em, write an angsty unrequited love fic. Which is exactly what this is.

I shifted in my seat waiting for the instant I could leave, I found no pleasure in being there despite my outward appearance. I watched her as she danced, she looked so happy, so did he. Had I looked like that once? So happy, so carefree? Had I ever looked so in love with everything in the world, even if it was many many years ago?

She looked so good-I'd never seen her in anything with frills before, and there she was resplended in white with far too much lace and beads, I had heard her complain more than once that she'd much rather show up in jeans and a tee shirt. But she looked absolutely fantastic, better than I had ever seen her before, and she usually looked so amazingly lovely.

I downed another glass of scotch and felt Abby glare at me. I regretted bringing my daughter along, but it wasn't like I had many other options. I watched her as she danced, twirling so easily in his arms. As the song ended, she made her way to where I was. "Dance with the bride?" She asked, holding out one hand to me. I was tempted to say no, but I felt a pair of eyes bore into me.

I reluctantly got up and made my way to the dance floor. "You look like you're at a funeral. That's no way to behave as a groomsman, if I knew you'd be this upset with no work I would have brought along a dead body for you to cut up." I managed to turn the corners of my mouth up into a smile.

"It's not work." I told her simply twirling her around the floor, she was so graceful, so fluid.

"Then what is it, you look like you're about to shoot someone, namely yourself."

"I'm fine." I told her. I wasn't going to ruin her day.

"You don't look it, smile will you? If only for the video. Although anyone who remembers you will remember you as a serious hardass." I smiled if only for her sake. We swayed in a small circle and I caught site of her new husband sitting with a bunch of other officers, drinking, laughing things up.

I didn't hate him, I knew that. He was a nice guy, a likeable guy. Perhaps that's what got under my skin about him, he was too nice, too likeable, everyone loved him, he was impossible to hate. And she loved him. I was jealous of him, I would admit him. The nice little American Boy, from the midwest high school quarterback and prom king, everybody's favorite person. But he loved her as much as I did, he was my competition, and he had won.

"You're not going to tell me what's bugging you, will you?" she asked me and I shook my head.

"It's only going to spoil your wedding, and I'm not going to do that. I'll tell you when you get back from whatever nice sunny beach you're going to to get out of the freezing hell that is Boston."

"Wait til I'm good and plastered, then tell me, I won't remember it in the morning, It's why I want you to behave for the video, it's the only way I'll remember anything that happened today. Between stress and all the booze, I can barely even remember what the date is."

I smiled, a genuine smile this time, and gently backed away as the song finished. "Sounds like a plan to me. I'll tell you when you're about ready to puke from a few too many whiskey sours." I retreated back to my table and sat there, shifitng, waiting again for a moment that I could use to escape. I ordered another glass of scotch and earned another glare from my daughter.

She started going on about how I shouldn't lecture her about drinking when here I was draining all the scotch out of the place and probably the city of Boston. I started tuning her out, I was too busy watching her as she danced, watching all the happy couples that moved so easily around the grand ballroom.

I walked out after a while, I needed to clear my head, the booze and the music were starting to get to me. I sat on the couch that was right outside of the ballroom and stared at the doors in front of me. I could leave right then and there, but everyone would want to know why, and it was easier just to put up with things than try to explain why I couldn't stand it anymore.

She came out and sat down next to me. "I'm good and drunk now Garret, spill." I laughed and shook my head.

"No." I told her simply and slid out the doors leaning on the small cement railing on the porch area. It was an unusually warm summer night and the heat and humidity felt good.

"The chicken dance is coming on soon and we're both drunk enough to do it, so you're going to tell me before it's time to get up there and make a fool of yourself." She joined me outside, walking back and forth, enjoying the heat just as much as I was.

"I told you, it's just going to ruin your day."

"You're ruining it now by making me play twenty questions. Out with it Garret or I'll pry it out of you." this was what I loved about her, the fact that once she was on to something she would never let it go for the life of her, she just couldn't.

I stared out at the starry night and I felt her dangerously close to me. Rather than say anything to answer her question of what was wrong, I leaned in and our lips met. For a long moment we stood there, wrapped in a tight embrace, engrossed in a long passionate kiss.

I broke it off just as suddenly as I had moved in on her. "Go on, go back to your wedding, Woody's a good guy, you two really love each other." I told her, and she looked up at me with heartfelt eyes, and gave me a peck on the cheek as she went back in just as the first notes of the chicken dance started.

I stayed out there, staring into the stars for a long minute before I followed her in. I took my seat back at the table to Abby's questioning of how it was possible I could miss the chicken dance, and I merely smiled and downed another glass of scotch, shifiting in my seat, waiting for the first moment I could leave.


End file.
